But Betty's bent on her intent;

For her good neighbour, Susan Gale,
Old Susan, she who dwells alone,
Is sick, and makes a piteous moan,
As if her very life would fail.

There's not a house within a mile,
No hand to help them in distress;
Old Susan lies abed in pain,
And sorely puzzled are the twain,
For what she ails they cannot guess.

And Betty's Husband's at the wood,
Where by the week he doth abide,
A woodman in the distant vale;
There's none to help poor Susan Gale;
What must be done? what will betide?

And Betty from the lane has fetched
Her Pony, that is mild and good,
Whether he be in joy or pain,
Feeding at will along the lane,
Or bringing fagots from the wood.

And he is all in travelling trim,-
And, by the moonlight, Betty Foy
Has up upon the saddle set
(The like was never heard of yet)
Him whom she loves, her Idiot Boy.

And he must post without delay
Across the bridge and through the dale,
And by the church, and o'er the down,
To bring a Doctor from the town,
Or she will die, old Susan Gale.

There is no need of boot or spur,
There is no need of whip or wand;
For Johnny has his holly-bough,
And with a hurly-burly now

He shakes the green bough in his hand.

And Betty o'er and o'er has told
The Boy, who is her best delight,
Both what to follow, what to shun,
What do, and what to leave undone,
How turn to left, and how to right.

And Betty's most especial charge,
Was, "Johnny! Johnny! mind that you
Come home again, nor stop at all,-
Come home again, whate'er befal,
My Johnny, do, I pray you do."

To this did Johnny answer make,
Both with his head and with his hand,
And proudly shook the bridle too;
And then! his words were not a few,
Which Betty well could understand.

And now that Johnny is just going,
Though Betty's in a mighty flurry,
She gently pats the Pony's side,
On which her Idiot Boy must ride,
And seems no longer in a hurry.

But when the Pony moved his legs, Oh! then for the poor Idiot Boy! For joy he cannot hold the bridle, For joy his head and heels are idle, He's idle all for very joy.

And while the Pony moves his legs,
In Johnny's left hand you may see
The green bough motionless and dead:
The Moon that shines above his head
Is not more still and mute than he.

His heart it was so full of glee,
That till full fifty yards were gone,
He quite forgot his holly whip,
And all his skill in horsemanship.
Oh! happy, happy, happy John.

And while the Mother, at the door,
Stands fixed, her face with joy o'erflows,
Proud of herself, and proud of him,
She sees him in his travelling trim,
How quietly her Johnny goes.

The silence of her Idiot Boy,

What hope it sends to Betty's heart!
He's at the Guide-post-he turns right,
She watches till he's out of sight,
And Betty will not then depart.

Burr, burr—now Johnny's lips they burr,
As loud as any mill, or near it;
Meek as a lamb the Pony moves,
And Johnny makes the noise he loves,
And Betty listens, glad to hear it.

Away she hies to Susan Gale:
Her messenger's in merry tune;
The Owlets hoot, the Owlets curr,
And Johnny's lips they burr, burr, burr,
As on he goes beneath the Moon.

His Steed and He right well agree;
For of this Pony there's a rumour,
That, should he lose his eyes and ears,
And should he live a thousand years,
He never will be out of humour.

But then he is a Horse that thinks!
And when he thinks his pace is slack;
Now, though he knows poor Johnny well,
Yet, for his life, he cannot tell
What he has got upon his back.

And Susan's growing worse and worse,
And Betty's in a sad quandary;
And then there's nobody to say
If she must go, or she must stay!
She's in a sad quandary.

The clock is on the stroke of one; But neither Doctor nor his Guide Appears along the moonlight road; There's neither horse nor man abroad, And Betty's still at Susan's side.

And Susan now begins to fear
Of sad mischances not a few,

That Johnny may perhaps be drowned,
Or lost, perhaps, and never found;
Which they must both for ever rue.

She prefaced half a hint of this
With, "God forbid it should be true!"
At the first word that Susan said,
Cried Betty, rising from the bed,
"Susan, I'd gladly stay with you.

"I must be gone, I must away,
Consider, Johnny's but half-wise;
Susan, we must take care of him,
If he is hurt in life or limb❞—
"Oh God forbid!" poor Susan cries.

"What can I do?" says Betty, going, "What can I do to ease your pain? Good Susan, tell me, and I'll stay; I fear you're in a dreadful way, But I shall soon be back again."

"Nay, Betty, go! good Betty, go! There's nothing that can ease my pain." Then off she hies; but with a prayer That God poor Susan's life would spare, Till she comes back again.

So, through the moonlight lane she goes,
And far into the moonlight dale;
And how she ran, and how she walked,
And all that to herself she talked,
Would surely be a tedious tale.

In high and low, above, below,
In great and small, in round and square,
In tree and tower was Johnny seen,
In brush and brake, in black and green,
"T was Johnny, Johnny, everywhere.

The bridge is past-far in the dale;
And now the thought torments her sore,
Johnny perhaps his horse forsook,
To hunt the moon within the brook,
And never will be heard of more.

And Betty sees the Pony to.

Why stand you thus, good Betty Foy?
It is no goblin, 't is no ghost,
"Tis he whom you so long have lost,
He whom you love, your Idiot Boy.

She looks again—her arms are up—
She screams-she cannot move for joy;
She darts, as with a torrent's force,
She almost has o'erturned the Horse,
And fast she holds her Idiot Boy.

And Johnny burrs, and laughs aloud;
Whether in cunning or in joy

I cannot tell; but while he laughs,
Betty a drunken pleasure quaff's
To hear again her Idiot Boy.

And now she's at the Pony's tail
And now is at the Pony's head,
On that side now, and now on this
And, almost stifled with her bliss,
A few sad tears does Betty shed

She kisses o'er and o'er again
Him whom she loves, her Idiot Boy;
She's happy here, is happy there,
She is uneasy everywhere;
Her limbs are all alive with joy.

She pats the Pony, where or when
She knows not, happy Betty Foy!
The little Pony glad may be,
But he is milder far than she,
You hardly can perceive his joy.

"Oh! Johnny never mind the Doctor;
You've done your best, and that is all.
She took the reins, when this was said
And gently turned the Pony's head
From the loud waterfall.

By this the stars were almost gone, The moon was setting on the hill, So pale you scarcely looked at her: The little birds began to stir, Though yet their tongues were still.

The Pony, Betty, and her Boy,
Wind slowly through the woody dale
And who is she, betimes abroad,
That hobbles up the steep rough road?
Who is it, but old Susan Gale?

Long time lay Susan lost in thought,
And many dreadful fears beset her,
Both for her Messenger and Nurse;
And, as her mind grew worse and worse
Her body-it grew better.